Skull Desires
by Writing Keeper
Summary: Four times the skull gets in John's way and the one time John does something about it. Sequel to "Out of Characters" and second installment to the series "Skull Chronicles"


Skull Desires

Sherlock's skull was in the top shelf of the fridge. John stared at it. It stared back with it's hollowed black eyes and a smile that was all teeth and bone. John clicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth as he assessed the situation. What was he doing before he noticed the skull was in the fridge? Hmmm... Oh right, he was going to get himself a cup of tea when he noticed the fridge door was ajar. He went to fix it only to find the skull sitting inside.

John reached in and took hold of the skull. He gently took it out of the fridge. It's surface was extremely cold and dry. It almost hurt to touch it.

"No!" Sherlock shouted from behind him.

John almost dropped the skull in his surprise. He whirled around, ready to berate Sherlock for scaring people half to death with his random outbursts. However, the words never made it out. Sherlock surged forward and snatched the skull away. He placed it back in the fridge and closed the door. John blinked and then blinked again.

Slowly, he felt a headache creeping up on him. He rested his head in his hand, his thumb and middle finger massaging his temples to relieve some of the pain. He took a deep breath, counted to ten, and then breathed out. When he was certain the first words out of his mouth weren't going to screams and shouts, John looked up.

"What is the skull doing in the fridge?" He asked.

"He's hot." Sherlock said simply.

"Excuse me?" John squeaked. It was terribly not manly of him to do so but he couldn't generate another kind of response that was manly and fit for the situation.

"My friend, he was complaining that it's hot so I placed him in the fridge."

"... You realize that's just a skull, right?" John tried hard to keep his temper. Sherlock was eccentric. He lacked social skills and he definitely lack common sense but this was pushing it.

"He is my friend." Sherlock insisted.

"He is your _dead _friend and he is a skull. Skulls _don't _feel." John gritted out between clenched teeth.

"My friend begs to differ." Sherlock shot back. John felt his anger rising. His hands clenched and unclenched. He felt his palms sweating from the intense amount of control he was exhibiting.

_Do not attack him. Do not punch Sherlock. Do not attack Sherlock. _He repeated the three sentences in his mind as he tried to think of another way to tell Sherlock that his behavior is bordering on crazy. John reminded himself to take deep breaths. They were the source to remaining calm.

"Sherlock, scientifically speaking skulls can't feel anything. They don't have nerves. So how can your skull feel hot?" John tried to go for the scientific route. Sherlock always said he was a man of science.

However it didn't work. Sherlock was still stubborn about leaving the skull in the fridge.

_Alright, _John breathed out nice a slow. _Let's try something else then. _

"What if he gets cold? You wouldn't want him to get hypothermia." John forced a smile onto his face. Sherlock cocked his head inquiringly.

"Don't be ridiculous, John. He's a _skull._"

John's jaw dropped. Sherlock pushed past him, declaring the conversation over. His bedroom door slammed shut seconds later. John was too stunned to move.

_What just happened?! _He asked himself.

**JOHNLOCK**

John found the skull sitting on the lid of the toilet bowl in the bathroom approximately a week later. He was brushing his teeth with his eyes closed and swaying on his feet. When he opened his eyes, he had the shock of his life. The skull was sat facing the mirror, staring at him. Unlike himself, John dropped his toothbrush and whirled around. His heart pounded loudly in his chest. His eyes were wide with fright as he looked at the skull.

"Sherlock!" John shouted at the top of his lungs.

The detective came walking in a minute later with a bored expression and his blue robe hanging off his shoulders. He scanned John from head to toe and then arched an eyebrow.

"You are not hurt." He stated. John glared at him. He turned around, sapt out the toothpaste, rinsed his mouth, and then charged forward to grab Sherlock around the shirt collar. He hauled him into the bathroom and shoved him into the skull's face.

"What is this?" He asked him.

"My friend," Sherlock answered back.

"I see that." John had a menacing smile on his face. "What is he doing on the toilet bowl?"

"He wanted to freshen up and needed the mirror." Sherlock said.

"Oh?" John felt his eyebrow twitch in annoyance.

_Calm down. _He told himself.

"Sherlock we went through this last time. He's a skull."

"He has needs." Sherlock countered like it made perfect sense.

"You admitted that he's just a skull." John shot back triumphantly.

"That doesn't mean he does not have needs. In fact, you are disturbing him at the moment. He is not done with his morning routine."

"What routine?! He's a fucking skull! He has no morning routine!" John shouted. He pushed Sherlock away in frustration. The detective stumbled a bit before gripping onto the wall for balance.

"I never knew you were a racist, John." Sherlock glared at him before turning around and stomping out of the bathroom.

This time John wasn't letting him get away that easily. He followed after the detective. He kept the distance between them short. Sherlock walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He pulled out a container and then went to the counter to get the cutting board. He placed the board on the dining table and then opened up the container.

A faint foul smell escaped it. John's nose twitched and he cleared his throat to stop himself from barfing. Despite living for quite a while with Sherlock, John's olfactory senses had not been dulled.

Sherlock flipped the container upside down and a piece of a brain flopped onto the cutting board.

"Why am I a racist?" John asked as he walked into the kitchen and stood on the other side of the table, facing Sherlock. Sherlock didn't look at him. Instead he bent down to get a good look at the brain.

"You automatically assume he doesn't need to freshen up in the mornings because he is a skull." Sherlock explained.

"That's a fact, not an opinion." John countered.

"It is also a fact that my friend needs to freshen up in the morning."

In a fit of frustration, John grabbed the brain off the board. He threw it onto the floor. With all his rage, he stomped on it three times until it was a mushy mess seeping through the floor boards.

"That is also a fact." He pointed to the destroyed brain.

**JOHNLOCK**

John walked into their room with a cup of hot tea. He tripped over something hard on the floor right in front of his door. The cup of tea sailed out of his hands and shattered upon contact with the floor. The tea was spilled all over the wood and possibly ruining it. John tumbled to the ground ungracefully. He landed with a loud thud. His legs sprawled open and his arms jabbing into his torso painfully.

He laid on the floor for awhile, wondering what it was that he tripped over. It felt small in size but extremely hard. His toes were throbbing in pain and his body was screaming in discomfort. Slowly, mindful of the pain, he flipped over onto his back. John sat up and looked at where his feet were. Unsurprisingly, sitting quietly by his feet was the skull. This time it was facing away from him, staring at the door.

The first two times that Sherlock placed the skull in random and inappropriate places, John was livid. He was practically breathing fire but at the very moment, as he's staring at the skull on his floor, John felt nothing. He simply just couldn't summon the anger and frustration that he felt before. It just wasn't there.

Instead, he simply got up, picked up the skull, and headed to the living room. Sherlock was in there setting up his violin. The detective stood with his back straight by the window and positioned his violin underneath his chin. He raised the bow, ready to produce the first note.

John flipped the music stand back. The music sheet fluttered to the floor. He placed the skull on the stand. Sherlock's gazee flickered to him in confusion.

"What?" He asked John.

"I found him on the floor in our room, staring at my door." John explained.

"Ah yes," Sherlock looked away and focused on the smiley face on the wall. He rested his bow against the strings and began playing.

"Why?" John aked simply.

"He wanted to say good night before heading to bed."

"Uh huh," John bent down and picked up the music sheet. He set them down on the small coffee table. "Good night, Sherlock."

Without another word, John turned away and headed to bed.

"Wait!" Sherlock shouted after him. John glanced at him over his shoulder.

"Yes?"

Sherlock had the skull in his hand and he was holding it out to John. "Take him with you."

"... No." John refused.

"You have to."

The anger John hadn't felt was beginning to boil in the pit of his stomach. He can feel his muscles clenching and unclenching, trying to contain the rising fury. A headache was pulling on his mind, begging to be let in. However he pushed it away. Instead of the death threatening glare he wanted to show Sherlock, John conjured up a strained smile.

"Why do I _have to_?" He asked.

"Because my friend likes our room. He wishes to spend the night there."

"Wish denied." John said automatically. He turned quickly and power walked to his bed upstairs.

"It is his dying wish!" Sherlock shouted up the stairs. "Are you that cold hearted to deny a dying man his final wish?"

"Good. Night. Sherlock." John barely contained his anger as he slammed the door shut.

**JOHNLOCK**

The front door to their flat burst open and they tumbled through it limbs entwertwined and mouths dancing together. John had his arm wrapped around Sherlock's neck while the detective was pulling on John's hair. Quickly, John unwrapped Sherlock's scarf and threw it away recklessly. Sherlock attacked his jumper, violently ripping it off his shoulders.

Their tongues fought for dominance as they tried to maneuver their way to the bedroom with their eyes closed and minds clouded in lust and passion. Along the way, Sherlock lost his shirt and John lost a shoe. John moaned into Sherlock's mouth as the detective prodded at his tongue with his own. John pulled away with a wet plop. Sherlock chased after his kiss swollen lips but John ducked his head to latch onto the detective's neck. He bit down and nibbled on the skin. Sherlock threw his head back with a loud moan. His hands traveled from John's hair down to his shoulders. He slid his fingers along the lines of John's muscles before grabbing them tightly. John groaned in response.

They crashed through the bedroom door. John led Sherlock to the bed while walking backwards. He sucked hard on Sherlock's neck, intending to leave a mark, telling the world the detective was taken. They stumbled into the dresser. The wood dug painfully into John's back. He pulled away from Sherlock's neck with a groan of pain.

Sherlock took the chance to take control. He pulled John away from the dresser and threw him onto the bed. John bounced a bit before Sherlock pinned him down. There was predatory glint in his eyes as he stared down at the doctor. John licked his lips when Sherlock grabbed the bottom of his shirt, kicked off John's other shoe, and ripped the shirt off his torso.

"I love it when you play rough." John whispered into Sherlock's ear when the detective bent to attack John's neck. John laid back and arched his neck in compliance. He closed his eyes and moaned at the butterfly kisses Sherlock was trailing down from his neck to his chest. The detective took a nipple into his mouth and sucked on it. John's arm flew up to wrap around Sherlock's shoulders and grip at his neck.

The move only encouraged Sherlock to suck harder and bite down on it. John's back arched at the sensation of Sherlock nibbling on his nipple. He turned his head to the side and opened his eyes.

Sitting on his pillow was the skull.

John yelped and pushed Sherlock away roughly. The detective gave him a look of confusion and tried to latch onto his nipple again. John kicked him in the knee and sat up quickly while Sherlock backed away to nurse his pained knee.

"What the hell?" Sherlock asked.

John pointed to the skull.

"Oh, him. He wanted to sleep." Sherlock rubbed his knee.

"Get him out of here." John said simply.

"Why?"

"I am not having sex with you while the skull is on our bed." John glared at Sherlock.

"Don't be an idiot, John. He's not going to notice." Sherlock tried to climb on top of John again. John kicked him in the other knee.

"Gah!" Sherlock jumped away and almost toppled off the bed. "John!"

"Put him in the living room or no sex for a month." John said.

Sherlock never moved so fast in his life. In a blink of an eye, the skull was off the pillow and Sherlock had disappeared out the bedroom door. John listened as Sherlock puttered into the living room, talking quietly with the skull. He couldn't hear what Sherlock was saying. His mutterings ended quick and soon John heard the tell tale sounds of Sherlock hurrying back to the bedroom.

The detective rushed through the door, closed it, and pounced on John. John allowed himself to be pushed down. He eagerly wrapped his arms around Sherlock as the detective continued to devour him.

_I need to get rid of that skull. _

**JOHNLOCK**

After that incident with the skull on his pillow, John had taken a vow to get rid of that skull the moment the chance arose. He didn't care that the skull used to be a friend of Sherlock's. Sherlock had taken it too far with pretending the skull was still alive. John understood that Sherlock sometimes talked to it. John also understood that the skull lived on the mantel above the fire place. He has accepted those two facts as a part of his life. However, he never understood why Sherlock had begun treating it like it was still alive and he couldn't accept that kind of abnormal behavior. Sherlock was eccentric enough as it is. John had no problems with his eccentricities but pretending the skull was alive was bordering on insane. Not to mention, the skull was also indirectly destroying his sex life.

One day, Sherlock had stopped John when he was getting ready to go to work. He had just swung his backpack over his shoulder when Sherlock came downstairs in his blue gown. John looked at him curiously. Sherlock presented him with the skull.

"Take him." He said simply.

"Where?" John asked.

"To work, of course." Sherlock looked at him like he couldn't believe John was so stupid.

John's eyebrow twitched. "Why would I take him to work with me?"

"Because he wants to go." Sherlock thrust the skull into John's hands. John looked down at it. One word came to mind.

_Chance! _

"... Alright," John agreed quietly. He opened up his backpack and stuff the skull inside. Sherlock smiled happily.

"Be sure to show him everything you do. He doesn't believe that you're as brilliant as I say you are. Make sure he sees you in action." Sherlock said excitedly.

"Uh huh," John turned around. "Oh, I'm stopping by the yard after work to finish up some of the paperwork for the last case. I'll be home late."

"Alright, take care." Sherlock leaned over John's shoulder to give him a small light kiss on the lips.

John returned it. "I will."

The skull never made it out of John's office the entire day. The moment he got to work, John locked it up in his drawer and never let the key out of his sight. Like hell, he was going to have the skull sitting in th examination rooms while he tended to patients. The only time the skull saw light was when John opened the drawer to check on it and get some papers or supplies out. Other than that, the skull stayed in there until John was done with his shift.

John had the skull tightly packed into his backpack as he entered the yard. The security waved at him as he passed by. He smiled good naturedly before heading up to look for Lestrade. He found the detective in his office, talking on the phone. John entered quietly and sat down on one of the chairs at the detective's desk. Lestrade nodded to him. John smiled back.

"Alright, I'll call you if I need anything else. Thank you, ma'am." Lestrade hung up the phone before looking up.

"Good evening, John."

"Goode evening, Lestrade. I'm here for the paperwork." John said.

"Right," Lestarde dug around on his desk, searching for the folder. He pulled a red folder from underneath a pile of mustard colored manila envelopes. He handed it to John.

"Thanks," John moved closer to the desk to place the folder on it. He pulled out a pen from his pocket and opened up the folder.

Lestrade stood up with another folder in his hands. "I got to make a quick drop off. You'll be ok here by yourself?"

It wasn't exactly protocol but John knew Lestrade trusted him. So he nodded and got to work.

"Alright, see you in a bit." Lestrade said before leaving.

A bit turned out to be two hours. John had just finished up the paperwork when he realized Lestrade still hadn't returned. He looked at the clock, it was nearing eight.

_I should probably get home. _John thought. He placed all the papers back into the folder before grabbing a sticky note off the desk. He wrote Lestrade a little note, telling him that he was done and headed home. John stood up and grabbed his backpack. He was about to fling the backpack over his shoulder when he remembered: the skull was still in there.

_Hmmm... _John looked at Lestrade's table. He looked at the people outside on the floor. No one was looking at him. They were all too busy doing their jobs. Quickly, John pulled out the skull and placed it on the table, facing Lestrade's chair. He took another sticky note and wrote "keep this for me for awhile" on it. He attached it to the skull's forehead.

"Bye-bye," he said to the skull before dashing out of the office in the calmest manner possible.

When he got home, Sherlock asked about the skull. John dropped his backpack on the couch and moved to the kitchen to make tea.

"He's with Lestrade." John said simply.

"Why?"

"Your friend seems to have taken an interest in Lestrade, wants to spend a couple days with the man." John chuckled.

"... Hmm... Well, he's a grown man." Sherlock dismissed the conversation and retreated to the living room.

John stayed in the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil, and trying hard not to laugh out loud.

"John!" Sherlock shouted for him a couple minutes later.

"Yes?"

"I want tea!"

"Of course."

* * *

A/N: This is a second installment to my one-shot story "Out of Character". I wrote this because mphelmsman (on AO3) asked me if I had any more. I just can't say no to someone who truly enjoyed my attempt at humor so I decided to write something else.

Thoughts, anyone?


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